Ethan hit the marble face-down, shoulder and hip absorbing the fall. Thomas pinned Ethan’s forearm beneath one polished shoe, careful not to press on his neck or spine.
Even in fury, Thomas Hale did not lose discipline.
Ethan’s breath left in a stunned rush.
He looked up at the white uniform above him, the ribbons, the gold, the hard silver eyes.
“Who are you?”
Thomas did not answer.
Rachel crouched beside Lucy, wrapping one arm around her child and the other over her stomach. Her long dark-brown hair hung disheveled around her face. Her white maternity dress was torn at the hem and dirt-marked at the knees. Small scratches marked her hands where she had tried to hold onto the edge of the side table.
She struggled to breathe evenly.
Then she looked at her father.